


Aging Out of the 20th Century

by softurisxo



Series: Aging Out of the 20th Century [1]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Blood, F/M, Gen, Losers club - Freeform, M/M, Post-Zombie Apocalypse, Sappy, Slow Burn, Violence, Zombies, established benverly, established hanzier, zombie apocalypse AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-07 01:58:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19075162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softurisxo/pseuds/softurisxo
Summary: The Losers Club band together to fight the ongoing threat of zombies, in a world of complete chaos.





	Aging Out of the 20th Century

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie and Stan watched Eddie on the ground, rolling in his tears, blood coating his nice collared shirt. “Hey,” Stan said softly, kneeling to Eddie’s level on the ground. His eyes were kind and concerned. Concerned for Eddie.
> 
> Anger coursing through his veins, Eddie shot a glare at Stan.
> 
> “Look we have to go. I can explain on the way,” Stan patiently huffed, out of breath. “Please.”
> 
> Eddie looked Stan in the eyes, his expression softening upon the gentleness he expressed. Something about his eyes made Eddie want to trust him.
> 
> He nodded.

 

> _”Help me! Help me!”_

_There was little to no time left until the car behind him exploded. Eddie’s legs carried him down the street, towards the oncoming mob of the undead, faces leaking what could only be pure infection. It was so hot out, and combined with the heat of fire and the amount of running he had done in the last few minutes alone, Eddie knew the grey shirt he chosen to wear today was littered with sweat stains. But why was he worried about that? About the sweat stains? Mortality was looking him right in the face, his young self on the precipice of death. Dead people were running towards him, faster than any Olympics athlete he’d seen on TV, and he had the nerve to cower over how much he was sweating._

****BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP****

”Fucking hell,” Eddie mumbled, feeling his soul all but sink back into his body after a night’s rest. Groggily, he smacked the alarm on his phone until he had achieved silence. That is until he finds a sob crawling it’s way up his throat.

”It isn’t going to happen.” Eddie palmed the corners of his eyes, rubbing the sleep out. With haste Eddie sat up and threw his legs over the side of his bed. With tired eyes, he glared at the pill bottles atop his bedside table, labelled as funny names not even the doctor could pronounce. “It’s these fucking meds,” Eddie grumbles under his breath. Since he was six years old he’s been taking those pills, and never has he suffered from nightmares in this quantity before, especially the same reoccurring nightmare.

_Help me._

His hands raised, slowly grabbing his phone from beside the pills. With anxious fingers he turned it on, eyes just barely open with hesitation.

Eddie was scared. He was scared of the disease that raked this planet close to 5 months ago. It started with California, then Arizona, Colorado, Oregon, Illinois, Louisiana, until Maine was the only sitting untouched; The only city capable of controlling this disease. Eddie was scared of Malaria, Aids, and Lyme Disease, but no amount of education could prepare him for what he saw on the news these last few months. It seemed no one could out-run it, unless they could literally out-run it. He watched as innocent people were torn apart by this disease, quite literally, all on TV. This disease started with aggression, murderous tendencies, foaming at the mouth, insanity, and it all happened at once. Once someone was infected, they experienced all these symptoms at once. Except this aggression came in a desperate, almost hungry way, which eventually became more clear to Eddie after he watched the news anchor himself bite and eat a woman fleeing behind him. He had no idea how Maine had held it’s defense this long, against a disease this vicious and cold.

 

Like any other disease, Eddie did his research on it; He learned many think that once someone is infected, they experience no thoughts, they experience no emotion. They do all the killing, feeling nothing.

 

As gullible as Eddie was, he wasn’t buying it.

 

After all, how could somebody not think if they are alive? How could someone move, or kill, if they were dead?

 

Eddie pondered, looking at his phone. CNN lit up his phone, along with tons of reports of an outbreak near the Maine border.

 

Plenty of news stations flashed footage of this event, caught on tape by a bystander, as Eddie and his mom watched nervously from their couch. His mother fiddled with tissues, and her phone, frantically trying to call her sister, Eddie’s aunt, that lived near the border, lived near the outbreak.

 

His throat was dry, his eyes fixed on the TV replaying new incoming footage of attacks of the diseased people. His mother sobbed into the phone, unable to reach her sister on the fourth try.

 

“Is she not answering?” Eddie meekly asked, watching her put the phone down in a fit of defeat.

 

She sniffled. “We’re going to get her. Get your things,” she ordered.

 

Eddie paused, still seated at the couch. “Mom-- you can’t be serious, I--!”

 

“Listen! Get your damn belongings and I’ll get the car started. We’re getting out of this damn house. I’m not going to sit around and become a Happy-Meal.”

 

His face scrunched up, tears welling up in the corner of his eyes. Watching his mother grab a suitcase from the coat closet, he stood up, legs shaking like leaves. “Alright,” he chirped. He wasn’t scared that his mother was yelling (He got used to that), but because after years of waiting, of being quarantined and being told they were safe, they suddenly weren’t.

 

With nervous legs, he carried himself upstairs. He didn’t know what she had meant by “grab your things,” but Eddie opted to just grab the car keys sitting on his mother’s vintage bedside table. He took a moment to look around his room, tears dripping down his cheeks like a child. He breathed in through his nose, and out through his mouth, before closing the door behind him. He prayed he’d never have to see that damned room ever again.

 

Sitting in the car already, his mother watched Eddie enter the garage, take a seat in the old Ford Windstar, and toss her the keys. She frantically attempted sticking them into the ignition, his hands just as shaky as Eddie’s. Eddie brought his hands gently to his mom’s, guiding them to put the key in the ignition. Not giving the small moment a single thought, his mother quickly pressed the button to open the garage, revealing the bright light of the outside world. Eddie rolled down his windows as they pulled out of the drive, and listened to the sounds of distant hollering and horn honking.

 

“Mom,” Eddie’s shaking voice suggested.

 

Her lips were pursed, angry, as she rolled up his window. “Stop,” was all she said.

 

When they reached the main road, Eddie couldn’t believe what he saw; Families he knew growing up in Derry were running around, chasing one another, in the same convulsed way he saw on the news. “Not real,” he whispered. He watched a car get stopped by some diseased people as the crawled on top of the car, reached through the window and grab a bite to eat. As they drove by at 75 mph, he took a look at who was attacked, a young woman with a baby in the back seat. “Not real.” They drove until they reached the freeway, headed North, towards anywhere but here, only to find the wide expanse of a once new and clean parkway to be nothing but a battlefield. Cars were stopped, bodies littered the impressive three lane parkway he remembered his mom talking about when it was being built 6 years ago. He never understood the appeal, especially now that blood painted the newly paved concrete.

 

“What the fuck,” Eddie murmured, as his mother weaved her way through cars, some immobilized by the diseased, or attempting to escape just as they were.

 

“Language!” she spitted, anxiously, tears dripping from her cheeks just as Eddie.

 

Eddie bit his tongue and anticipated what they’d see as they found their way up a small hill on the freeway. To his own surprise, a group of maybe 8 to 12 diseased people were approaching their car. He wailed, gripping hold of the car’s seat in complete agony. His mother floored it.

 

“No!” Eddie hollered, grabbing his mother’s arm protectively, hoping she would ease up on the gas. “Those are people!”

 

His once angered and intimidating look, fell soft and she slowed down as she approached the group, hoping to simply go around them. They maneuvered their way throw the group, as Eddie looked horrified upon them. He weeped, holding his hands close to his chest as the grotesque and bloody figures stared at him through the window. He took it back; He hoped he’d see his room again.

 

The few in front of the car, never parted and served as a roadblock for their hefty minivan. They growled and snarled in front of them, hissing and making disturbing or inhuman noises. Eddie’s mom stopped the car, looking the monsters in the eye and shouting, “you’d better move it people! Or else!”

 

Eddie choked down a sob, making eye contact with a bloody man outside his window. More figures in the area limped over to their car after it had stopped. “Shit, shit, shit,” he cried out, grabbing his mom’s hand on the steering wheel.

 

This time she didn’t say anything, just held his hand tightly in her own, before rolling down her window a sliver. “Mom no--!”

 

“I said move, mister!” she yelled at the many that had gathered on her side of the car.

 

Eddie screamed. “Roll it up! Mom! Mom!”

 

The screaming riled the diseased up, and they grabbed a hold of the glass window from the top. They pulled and yanked desperately at the glass. “Stop! That’s not yours!”

 

The diseased growled and yelled back at her in demonic voices, sick and slimy hands pawing at her through the sliver. Their force began cracking the glass, around 20 of them gathered on her side of the door. Sitting frozen, Eddie wept uncontrollably, and watched as the creatures from his side proved it more useful to be on his mother’s side. “Shit!” he screamed. “Someone help! Help!” he cried desperately, letting go of his mother’s hand before one of the diseased, pushed itself into the car window, shattering it completely.

 

Eddie yelled and yelled, watching his mother get pulled every which way, being used as a tug of war toy for the sickly people outside. “No! Stop!” his voice raspy and tired, his eyes focused on a single woman who pulled his mother’s torso close and took a vicious bite. With the quickness, Eddie shut his eyes. “Not real,” he whimpered, his hands clasped around his ears to hide from the sounds of the diseased people turning his mother into the Happy-Meal she so deeply feared turning into.

 

He sat in the seat from 2 minutes before he suddenly became of interest to them when they finished his mother. His eyes hung sadly on the few outside his window now, pawing at the boy.

 

“Hey motherfuckers!” He heard someone call out. “You fucking want some of this? Oh I know you do!”

 

He opened his tired eyes, and watched as the diseased people outside fell one by one, after hearing a loud smack. Coming into view was a lanky man, around Eddie’s age, hair a tangled raven-y mess, and glasses bigger than sim goggles. “Fucking fuck!” he hollered dramatically, laying a big baseball bat, layered with nails, into the heads of the bloody monsters. He slunk deeper into his seat. He watched as another man, tall, with mousy brown curls appear beside his window with a handgun; The kind of gun he had only seen in the movies he watched once he mother went to bed on Friday nights.

 

Eddie knew who these guys were. He watched the news enough to know they were thugs; Thugs seeking to take advantage of this epidemic by stealing, murdering, and worse. These men were thugs, and them killing the diseased without a second thought only proved it to Eddie.

 

“Stop!” he yelled at the two outside the car. “Not me!”

 

The tall mousy haired one, looked at Eddie through the glass, before turning around the shoot a few more diseased in the head, most likely drawn in by the ruckus. Eddie was looking for every excuse he could to defend these sickly, bloody, people. They were being killed right in front of him by these terrible people. The lanky raven haired man cleared the rest of them off the car, before poking his head into the car from his mom’s side. He looked around the car exhausted, before his eyes landed on Eddie.

 

“Go! Fucking go! Leave me alone!” Eddie cried the tears resurfacing, before they land on his mother’s body in the seat beside him.

 

“Damn, and not even a thank you,” the raven haired man smiled pitifully. “Let’s get you out of there, or your mom wi--”

 

“No! I’m not going anywhere with you!” His tears dribbled into his mouth as he sobbed, his throat catching many times.

 

The door on his side suddenly opened, and the mousy haired man looked in carefully.

 

“No!” Eddie wailed again, kicking his legs out at him. “No! No! No!”

 

“Does he know what’s happening?” the raven haired man asked the other.

 

“I dont--” he started speaking calmly, before Eddie interrupted.

 

“Yes! I do! I know more about this than anyone you’ve encountered! You’re thugs! Thugs!”

 

The two men looked at Eddie studiously, watching what he might do next.

 

“Look, we’re here to help you. And right now, this woman is getting ready to come back, so we need to get you out of here!” the mousy haired man cries, turning around to nail a few diseased walking towards them.

 

“Come back?”

 

The raven haired man nods. “Do you understand? Zombies?”

 

Eddie furrowed his brow, the tears settling on the corners of his eyes. “Zombies?!”

 

With that, his mother’s body surged upwards, eliciting a roar of some kind, breathy and demonic. It slowly turned toward Richie, and reached out to grab him.

 

“Richie!” the mousy haired man called to the raven haired man, Richie. His hand grabbed Eddie’s in a fit of protectiveness, and guided him out of the car on jelly legs. “I’m coming Rich!”

 

Richie beat the baseball bat against Eddie’s mom’s head, before the mousy haired man ran over, kicking her to the ground. She growled harshly, and Eddie made his way around to the other side of the car to watch the scene. Beating the head, Richie grunted. “Stan, behind the kid!”

 

The mousy haired man, Stan turned around and looked at Eddie. Eddie looked at him tiredly, before realizing Stan was looking behind him. He turned around quickly, before being tackled by a large bloody figure. Hollering and kicking, Eddie watched as Stan frantically kicked the body off of him forcefully, before shooting the creature in the head. The sound of the gun sent Eddie into a frenzy, screaming and crying louder than ever before.

 

Richie and Stan watched Eddie on the ground, rolling in his tears, blood coating his nice collared shirt. “Hey,” Stan said softly, kneeling to Eddie’s level on the ground. His eyes were kind and concerned.

 

Anger coursing through his veins, Eddie shot a glare at Stan.

 

“Look we have to go. I can explain on the way,” Stan patiently huffed, out of breath. “Please.”

 

Eddie looked Stan in the eyes, his expression softening upon the gentleness he expressed. Something about his eyes made Eddie want to trust him. He nodded.

 

Helping Eddie to his feet, Richie looked around the area. The highway was thick with fog, and blood splattered the nearby cars, that all but yelled. Or maybe that was the people inside of them.

 

Eddie scrunched his nose at the smell, that of rotten meat, or better yet the dead. His mother. “We’ll have to go this way, through the woods,” Richie pointed towards the trees that lined the road way, his bat hanging cooly over his shoulder.

 

“Alright,” Stan heaved. He nudged Eddie gently, as not to startle him. “Can you walk, love?” he cooed protectively, putting an arm around Eddie and his pistol in his belt loop. Leaning into his touch, Eddie nodded, looking at his mother’s body on the ground, her head nothing more than a puddle. He couldn’t help but stifle down a sob. He intertwined his arm with Stan’s attempting to take a step forward into the woods surrounding them. Having a hard time with simply lifting his leg, Eddie trembled. Stan groaned, observing the zombies approaching the group. “Here,” Stan winced, kneeling once more in front of Eddie. “Climb up.” Eddie didn’t hesitate to grab hold of the stranger’s back and be hoisted up comfortably as he stood back up. “Let’s go,” he offered to Richie, who nodded.

 

They made their way into the forest, dark and just as dreary as the freeway. Tree trunks were battered with blood, and Richie took out a few zombies with his bat ahead of them, as to let Stan and Eddie through safely. Stan’s hands held Eddie firmly to his back, as Eddie laid expressionlessly. After running quite a ways away from the roadways, they stopped running, out of breath.

 

Richie held himself up on a tree with his arm and panted dramatically before grabbing a water bottle from the backpack on his back. “Water, anyone?” he offered. Stan grabbed the bottle and held it up for Eddie to grab, but he refused. How could he think about anything else but his mother. About what the fuck is happening to people. About why these guys killed those people.

 

Sighing, Stan gave Eddie a small tap on the thighs, signalling that he would put him down so he could rest. Eddie sat meekly on the ground, his knees buried in the dirt. His face stained with tears, had no more emotion. Nothing but a blank look in his eyes.

 

Stan took a swig from the water bottle. “So,” he began, taking a seat across from Eddie, “Do you have a name?”

 

Eddie blinked. “Eddie.”

 

Stan managed to smile, making eye contact with Eddie for the first time since he kicked the zombie off of him at the highway.

 

Richie scoffed, unimpressed by Eddie’s efforts. Shooting Richie a look, Stan then put a gentle hand on Eddie’s leg. “Hey,” he patiently spoke, his voice low and calming. “I’m Stan.”

 

Nodding, Eddie looked back down at the dirt, his eyes trying not to look to hard at Stan’s hand on his exposed skin.

 

“And I’m Richie,” Richie smiled, from the shadow of the tree. When Eddie looked up at him, he wore a patient and toothy smile, his glasses sliding down his face dorkily. Pushing them back up his nose, Richie’s face turned hard again, just as tired and beaten as he imagined his own to look. His hair twisted in every direction, and upon closer look the dirt on his cheeks revealed itself to hide dark freckles. Eddie looked back at Stan, his face now focused on the dirt Eddie was looking at. His features were sharp and bird-like, but kind and soft. His dirty blonde curls framed his face wistfully. Weirdly enough, Eddie thought he was attractive.

 

“You probably want to know what’s happening don’t you?” Stan asked, his eyes still fixed beneath him. Eddie wanted Stan to meet his gaze, wanted his blue eyes on his own. Nodding, he heard, Richie finally walk over and sit near them.

 

“I already told you. I know wh--”

 

Stan looked up at Eddie, stopping him mid sentence. “No. Like, really know.”

 

Eddie’s eyes narrowed. “I guess.”

 

With anxious eyes, Stan looked to Richie, who was sitting solemnly. “Alright,” he said to Stan. Richie looked carefully at Eddie, rattled by the words he had yet to speak. “Well,” he started, a nervous smile on his lips. “The virus. You know how it started, I’m sure. California, Arizona, and so on?” Eddie nodded. “Well what they haven’t told anyone is… we’re all infected.”

 

Tightening his fists, Eddie can’t help but place a hand on Richie’s leg, to steady themselves. _What the fuck does that mean? We’re all infected?_

 

“Once we die, we all turn into those… things. I guess media has already coined them as ‘zombies.’ You’ve seen movies…” Richie’s voice trailed off. Stan’s eyes looked at Eddie, wide and anxious. Clearing his throat, Richie blinked away a few tears. “Except it’s really happening.”

 

Before Richie could speak again, Stan placed a hand on Richie’s back. “Me and Rich are from Chicago. We were caught in the wake of it all and had to fight our way to Maine before they quarantined the whole region. We barely made it,” he spoke quietly. “If you’re bit or scratched, you… change. We lost a lot of people.”

 

Richie stood up quickly, his back facing the pair on the floor.

 

“Rich?” Stan asked, concerned.

 

Wiping his face, Richie turns around, his features red, puffy, and swollen. “Can we go? We don’t have time to sit around like this anymore.” His voice was shaky and nervous, but strong and authoritative.

 

Stan nodded. “Yes.”

 

Offering his back to Eddie again, Stan took Eddie’s hand in his.

 

Eddie shook his head, no. “I can do it.”

 

They walked in silence, despite the occasional smack of Richie’s baseball bat to a zombie’s head. Eddie walked with his arm tangled in Stan’s, cautious and exhausted.

 

“Where are we going?” Eddie asked, his eyelids half open, his eyes glazed over in a perpetual state of sadness.

 

Stan’s arm drew Eddie closer, Richie up ahead whacking a zombie over the head with his bat. “A shelter. Our friends are there. That’s where we set up shop after we were moved to Maine. It’ll be safe there. I promise.”

 

Trusting Stan, Eddie nodded. Richie chuckled up ahead. “Hmm, Bev will get a kick of him, won’t she, Stan?”

 

Stan scoffed. “I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean.”

 

He scoffed back. “Like, he’ll be intimidated by her. Think he’s ever met a girl that fiery?”

 

Eddie shot back. “I’m literally right here, I can hear you.”

 

Chuckling again, Richie gave a few pointless waves off his bat in the air. “All I’m saying is, you should be fine. They’re nice people.”

 

As much as he hated to admit it, Eddie trusted Richie too. He looked up at Stan patiently as they walked, and Stan nodded knowingly to Eddie. “It’ll be ok,” he whispered.

 

As they drew closer to the supposed campsite, Eddie notices a tower of smoke over the forest, in the direction they were headed and Eddie gathered that marked their shelter. After walking through a small tree line, the group came to a clearing, with what looked like a deserted airplane hanger, clothing line, camp fire, and stacks of wooden crates.

 

“This is it,” Stan sighed, tossing his bag to the ground, and jogging over to the metal building. “Anyone home?” he called inside, his eyes wide and hopeful. “Hello?”

 

Richie walked around, letting his backpack fall off with a thump. He circled around the fire before looking towards the trees that surrounded the clearing. Eddie stood awkwardly, his legs brushing together uncomfortable, and knees red and beaten. “C-Can I help?”

 

Stan jogs back over to Eddie, looking at him intently, before brushing a hair behind Eddie’s ear. “Let us look.”

 

Groaning from the corner of the campsite, Richie calls Stan over. “They must not have made it back,” Richie shrugs, Stan walking over slowly.

 

“Damn,” Stan’s eyes scan the camp before landing on Eddie. “They’ll be here soon,” he nods, looking back at Richie, who wore a fearful face. “Look at me, Rich,” he orders, but it’s calm and trusting. “I promise they’ll be alright.

 

Richie looks at Stan, his eyes glossy behind the glasses he wore. Calmly, Stan placed a hand on his shoulder, as Richie bit down on his bottom lip, however his tearful eyes landed on something behind Stan.

 

“Rich?”

 

Eddie ran over to the group, nervous of the conversation they might be having and scared of what they were looking at too.

 

“Rich?” Stan asked again, his hand on his shoulder shaking him lightly.

 

Richie’s sad expression turned up, a smile lit up his face and he ran to a figure behind Stan. “Rich! Stop!” Stan shouted, immediately reaching for the pistol and pointing it towards the figures. “Stay back Eddie,” he ordered before running after Richie, his gun pointed down at the ground now.

 

Standing patiently, Eddie watched as the four rugged figures showed themselves in the light of the clearing. The sun was setting, leaving an intense cascade of color over the forest. Richie hugged the figure in the front, the shape of a girl. _Could this be Bev?_

 

From about 2 dozen yards away, Eddie heard Richie laugh, his voice sounding relieved, followed by voices he hadn’t heard before. He watched them hug, Stan too, nervously.

 

The group began walking back to the center of their camp. They were all about the same age as Eddie, Stan, and Richie. The girl had short fiery red hair, curled in an afro type haircut. Her eyes were bright blue, and intimidating as hell to Eddie. And on top of that she sported a sharp axe in her left hand. He forced himself to look away. His eyes landed on a tall black man, hair kept short but curly, and eyes deeper than and as piercing as the girl’s. His strong arms held two meat cleaver knives, and he wore a black backpack. The other two were men, each one shorter than the other. One had dark brown hair, and tired blue eyes. He was white and scrawny but held a spear shaped weapon in his hand that had to be more than 25 pounds. The other was white, short, bigger boned, and had his golden hair in a small bun on the back of his head. In his hand, he held a small pistol like Stan’s but quickly put it in a holster upon seeing Richie and Stan.

 

Eddie approached slowly, cautious as to figure out his place in this group. “St--”

 

Before Eddie could make a peep, the woman threw her arms up, protectively of the men behind her. “I’ve got this one,” she smirked, before charging towards Eddie.

 

Eddie blinked once and the red head was feet in front of him, Stan close behind her. “Stop, Bev! Stop!” Stan shouted, reaching out to attempt and grab her. Eddie shut his eyes, bracing for the pain that had to be _Beverly._ But when he opened his eyes, Stan was in front of him, his arms splayed out protecting Eddie. “Beverly, he’s alive,” he stated, his eyes fixed on her eyes, that burned holes through Eddie. Slowly lowering her axe, she looked from Stan back to Eddie.

 

“Hm,” she hummed, sporting a new terrifying thing. A smile.

 

“We saved him when we went out today,” Stan spoke, lowering his arms as Beverly approached them, her smile fading. “Play nice,” he scoffed, stepping out of the way for Beverly.

 

Eddie cleared his throat, watching as the three boys plus Richie, walked over to the scene. The sun hit their faces as it set, and Eddie hoped this wouldn’t be the last time he saw the sun. “I’m E-Eddie,” he tried, holding his hand out for her to shake.

 

She looked him up and down, a scowl on her face, before taking his hand in her own for a handshake. “I’m Beverly.”

 

The three boys then came from behind Beverly. “I’m Mike,” the tall black man presented himself, walking forward to shake Eddie’s hand. Richie clung to his side as he look up at Mike adoringly, hands interlocked in a protective manner. “That’s Bill,” he smiles, pointing at the scrawny boy with the spear, who waves nervously. “And Ben,” he introduces also. Ben nods knowingly, offering Eddie a kind smile also.

 

Hoping to ease Eddie’s nerves, Stan nudges him playfully, smiling to him himself.

 

Beverly clears her throat, bringing Eddie’s attention back to her. “So tell us kid…

 

_… What do you know about killing zombies?”_


End file.
